you love a pretty girl with a twisted mind
by a simple space nerd
Summary: mal's red-rimmed eyes, ben holding her hand, and evie will pull her close with an arm around her waist as carlos squeezes her middle and jay leans behind her with an arm on her shoulder and his hair on the back of her neck, and mal will think to herself that she will never let them go again and they will all think the same. (but first comes everything else.)


he meets her when they're nothing more than children, two street-waifs trying to survive without any help from their parents. jay is no use to his father unless he is stocking shelves. mal is no good to her mother unless she can surpass every challenge set for her. (both get told the same thing: if you can't do this, don't come home.)

she tries to steal from him, he calls her little one, and somehow they don't maim each other. jay is dangerous, every inch of him, blades accessible along the sides of his vests and strapped to his arms, mal's eyes flash sickly-green with teeth somewhat pointed when she snarls, and they've both grown up dodging blows from one person or another, but around each other jay can feel more like the carefree boy he pretends to be and mal can be cold but not cruel and it is everything they need, eight and nine and ten and growing up together. their alliance is not soft or gentle but that would never have worked for them anyways.

the first gift she receives is from him; a necklace with a cheap purple jewel dangling from the rusted silver chain, and she wears it under her clothes every day after, staring at it in her palm when things get hard. his first gift he too receives from her: a golden bracelet she tells him is _his_ and _his alone_ and that itis _not for jafar to take_ and mal always gets a satisfied gleam in her eyes when she sees it snug on his wrist _._ they rule the school and the streets alike, mal with her easy confidence and jay with his lazy swagger and his fists reinforce what her sharp tongue cannot and together they are impenetrable. (they are not always at each other's sides, to be seen as co-dependent would be to be seen as weak, but when there is conflict they are there and when there are shadows they are there and when there is trouble they are making it.)

the first person to bandage his wounds is her, and to her it is him, and they are _allies_ until the day jay is hiding in mal's closet, bleeding and dazed after a bad run-in with gaston, and mal hisses at him to hide as in her haste to return to him and tend to his aches she says something wrong (jay will never know what, exactly, it was) and jay hears mal's soft sounds as her mother swings her (useless, empty) staff at mal's head, shrieking. mal returns to him not in the least bit deterred, bruises already blooming like roses on her cheekbones and her lip oozing lazily. they say nothing more (they don't need words, they never have,) but that day they go from _allies_ to something more.

jay has probably always been a tactile person, but he never got a chance to discover that before mal. (mal doesn't like to be touched, but for jay… for jay there is not much she would not do, though she will never say so.) he often hooks an arm around her shoulder, or rests his arms on her shoulders, ("little one") or drapes his long arms over her and rests his chin on one of her shoulders. fighting, they are unstoppable, hard as nails and twice as vicious, and alone they are fiery and mischievous and it is jay who teaches mal to laugh and smile and it is mal who teaches jay how to look relaxed while readying for a battle and teaches him what it means to care.

they fight, of course they do, stubborn and sly and whip-smart the both of them, street-grown and violent and angry and determined and fiercely defensive, aggressively protective, two human explosions forever reaching higher. but there are days where their friendship is all they have, though will never give it that name, _friendship_ , and though a grudge may last weeks it will always fade in the end. these are two children who do not follow rules, who do their best to break the few they know of: there are no lines they will not cross and yet there are things they will not say: things like _nothing but an employee, useless good-for-nothing_ and _still always disappointing your mother, fake-fae_.

they sit perched on a roof overlooking the market, even closer together than usual, jay's breath warm on mal's neck as her legs dangle over the roof and her hair blows gently in the breeze, not leaning back into his chest but barely a breath away. his arm lies over his bent knee while the other is placed behind him and his second leg swings beside mal's.

jay's voice is gravelly when he speaks but not harsh. "what are you thinking?" the sun is setting, low over the water, and from their vantage point they can see how even the sun shines brighter over the crystal peaks of auradon.

mal is silent a moment longer than usual but jay doesn't prod, waiting patiently, tilting his head to look at her. she turns slightly so that she can see him better, leaning on one of his shoulders, against his bent knee. "one day," she tells him, voice raw and not quite a whisper, "we'll burn it to the ground."

jay's lips quirk into a half-smile as he meets her gaze and looks away again, nothing soft in his lips, dangerous and dark. "auradon?"

mal shakes her head. "all of it," she says, a pledge, and no one hearing would dare to question her. (all of it: their prison and their prisoners and anyone who dares to stand in their way.) the thought of doubt never even crosses jay's mind, as he glances at her again, at the necklace of bruises on her neck, the fingernail-scratches on her cheeks, her split lip, the points to her ears as he tugs on a strand of purple hair.

"together," he agrees, an oath of his own. completely serious, meaning every word. "we'll burn it all, little one."

mal nods, once, sharp, and her still sharper-than-expected teeth glint in the sinking sunlight. "together," she repeats, quieter but not gently, a promise forged of broken bones and mouths spitting blood and lost children left to fend for themselves. "you and me."

sometimes they do not know where one of them ends and where the other begins and they know each other better than they know themselves, sometimes they fight more aggressively than they ever have without fists and sometimes _with_ fists, and always he knows that there is nothing he would not do for her, nowhere he would not follow her to, nobody he would not leave behind for her. (he does not know, yet, but he will be by her side for their whole lives, her general and her best-and-first friend and her closer-than-a-brother and they will change the world.) (together.)

jay is the first to love her, this fae-girl with the bloody fists and the wicked tongue, raining promises of destruction like salvation, but he is not the last.

they meet at twelve years old, and it's awful. a man's breath is hot on her neck, his meaty fingers pawing at her, moving the fabric of her dress on her shoulder aside, and evie shrieks as she claws at his hands, at his face. her feet swing helplessly towards his knees but she is new to the marketplace, new to the people who live on this island with her. she's close to crying, panic burning bright and hot in her stomach, when the man pressing her against the brick wall of the alleyway suddenly howls and drops her arms, dropping to his knees to reveal a short, impassive little girl who can't be older than evie herself.

evie stares. the girl calmly reaches over and retrieves her blade from between the man's shoulder blades, swiftly kicking the back of his knees with her boots and sending him sprawling forward, where he rolls helplessly on the floor until the girl calmly, ruthlessly, viciously, smashes her boot onto his face. evie hears a crack. blood spurts and he makes a gurgled scream.

the girl looks at evie as if she didn't just decimate a man twice her size. "i'm mal," she says shortly, and evie stumbles off against the wall.

"vie," she rasps, the word coming out hoarse as she tugs at her skirt edges, flustered, clearing her throat. tries again. "evie."

mal looks almost amused at this, and evie takes a moment to look over her saviour, purple locks falling over her ears, eyes a strange indecipherable colour in the darkness of the alley, clothes dark and leathered, fingerless gloves bearing a stain that evie doesn't want to look too closely at.

"thank you," says evie after an uncomfortably long moment of silence.

mal looks at her disapprovingly, folding her arms. there are studs on the collar of her leather jacket. "don't," she warns. "thanking people gives them an opportunity to claim a dept."

evie gawks, confused and shaken. her hands are trembling. "why did you save me?" she asks, instead of replying to mal's strange proclamation, which she knows, she _knows_ , she hasn't been allowed out of the castle three days and she's already gotten lost, assaulted, and told off. suddenly tears are stinging the backs of her eyes, and mal looks somewhat alarmed at the sight, and if evie had been thinking straight she would have wondered why mal, maleficent's dragonet, witchling, (three days is not a lot of time but everyone knows who mal is) heartless and invincible and ruthless, is suddenly looking uncomfortable. (why'd she save her?)

mal shrugs, turns around, and evie follows her uncertainty, not wanting to be left alone with the man still weakly gargling on the floor.

"doesn't matter why," mal says shortly, not a snap, less harsh than what it may have been to someone else. (why did she save her? why, why?) "just matters that i did."

she's approached by mal the next day as she walks to school and tries hard not to show she's relieved, even more mollified when mal slips her a shard of glass and tells her where it'll hurt. she walks into class with mal at her side and suddenly she knows what her mother is talking about when she says magic is powerful. mal is evie's magic.

evie knows she has a lot to learn. she's good, very good, at poisons and potions and scheming and mal's eyes are approving when she leans over to check evie's results, although she scowls after evie stops trying when her mother yells and screams and berates her because _no prince will want a woman who seems smarter than him! keep it on the inside! don't let them know!_ mal introduces her to a boy named jay, and evie's seen them together before, the handsome thief with dark eyes and long hair and an easy smirk. jay teaches her knife-throwing, a skill she takes to instantly, and suddenly when mal and jay move through the halls parting the students like water, evie is at their sides. heels and head high sashaying with low-cut skirts and all the cheap jewellery the other two have bestowed upon her over time, the three of them rule the halls and evie is almost drunk on the feeling of power, of belonging, of capability. (this, she thinks secretly, is what she was born for. not princes, not for ruling petty useless far-away kingdoms.) (this is her kingdom and these are the kings and queens.)

mal is sly and jay is quick and evie is smart and now when her mother keeps her locked away for days at a time without food, without light, evie has somewhere to creep off to, people who care, though they will never admit it. evie is good at hiding her feelings. Her face is a canvas, mother says. show them only what you want them to see, and what you want them to see if what they want to see. evie is very good at this, at distraction, manipulation. mal is not. (not like her, not like evie is. no one is like evie is.) everyone knows when mal is in a bad mood, and jay is not much better, so evie is the one to smooth things over, evie is the one to flutter her eyelashes and lean over and make things better and mal always sends her a too-sharp smile and bumps shoulders with her and evie thinks this is exactly how it should be.

she loves mal, desperately, like she's never loved someone else. mal made her who she is, showed her who she could become, saved her life in so many more ways than one. she may never know why mal chose to intervene, chose to adopt her, but she will never take mal for granted. their friendship is not one-sided, she knows this, sometimes she even sees a side of mal that she knows no one else does and she feels loved and perfect and beautiful.

they sit on the top of maleficent's castle with mal's head on evie's shoulder and their arms wrapped around each other, older and tougher and harder and yet closer than they ever used to be, and evie squeezes her tight, looks at the stars above their heads. "that's us," mal whispers into evie's curls, and evie looks down at her, smiling.

"stars," mal continues. "we'll be shining for ever and ever, evie. everyone will know our names. we'll have everything we could ever want, and everyone we want, and no one will ever stop us."

evie hums fondly, hugs the half-not-fae tighter to her. "but who's gonna get us up there, m? we're stuck out here with no princes and no magic." it's not a challenge, it never would be. evie is a menace in her own right, vicious and crueller than many others and very efficient and very very effective but mal is family and evie would not ever want anything else, anything more.

"we are," mal tells her, and there's a smile in her words, and her grin gleams, and evie laughs and rests her head on mal's shoulder as they switch spots. she remembers mal saying that evie doesn't need a prince. she thinks about how she rules the isle with two others without a boy she has to kiss. "i'll get you anything you wanted, e. anything you could ask for, you'll get it."

"thank you," smiles evie, and they both know it's the farthest thing from mocking. (farthest thing from weak.)

"don't thank people, e," mal teases, pocking her in the stomach, fiddling with the ends of evie's hair and evie laughs, remembering.

"we'll never be in each other's debt," evie says, and mal giggles. "i would never not want to give you what you asked, what you wanted." she means every word and she straightens up to look mal in the eyes as mal's eyes go softer than they have before and she leans forward and kisses evie's cheek and this is evie's whole world, right here, right now.

she meets him first when he is twelve years old. she is two years his senior but her eyes are bright and inquisitive as they follow him along the school hall. her gaze feels like it's burning him, a constant itch that he can't scratch, and it sets him on edge. he knows who she is. everyone knows who mal is. (and now, he thinks miserably, everyone knows who he is too. carlos de evil, cruella's runt, finally out in the light.)

he sees jay sitting impassively by her right and turns away. he's known jay for years, nothing ever past friendly (friendly doesn't exist) competition and casual acknowledgment as they pass on the streets and sometimes they'll run along the rooftops together or cause trouble for lack of something else to do. carlos is good at causing trouble.

jay knows more about him than anyone other than cruella, and she doesn't really count. (in order to know something about carlos, she'd have to remember he was her son for more than a couple hours.) he likes jay. certainly doesn't trust him, but liking someone is as good as it gets on an in island full of criminals and their spawn.

"so you're jay's little secret," comes mal's voice, and carlos jumps. mal's blocking his access to his locker, one arm keeping it closed, and her eyes are curious but hard and very, very threatening. carlos resists the urge to gulp or cower. he has faced much, much worse than a fourteen-year-old with purple hair and a leather jacket.

"um," he says. "i'm carlos."

"yes," mal agrees, unimpressed. "i know."

carlos flushes, but then straightens, suddenly wildly emboldened. "you're blocking my locker," he says bravely, and she remains unmoved but raises an eyebrow, face unreadable.

he doesn't squirm, doesn't reach for any of his knives, just folds his arms over his chest and waits expectantly. mal doesn't move. neither does he. in some distant part of his mind, he's screaming at himself, but for now they're at an impassive, apparently. carlos wouldn't have a problem if it turned physical, though he'd rather not, but mal doesn't seem too inclined to starting a fight with him, something in her eyes looking almost like bemusement… amusement, intrigue, an unspoken dare. it's the amusement that annoys him, and he locks his jaw. mal's eyebrow travels further. he doesn't twitch.

suddenly, mal's cold mask of indifference breaks. she cracks a smile and carlos blinks. "alright," she says, pushing off his locker, "jay likes you, so I guess you can stay." she grins, abrupt, and though it's nothing kind (more of a warning than anything else) carlos relaxes somewhat, still thrown by the change in atmosphere. she pushes his forehead with two fingers, sending him stumbling a couple steps, and rolls her eyes before disappearing, leaving carlos standing by his locker in confusion.

"mal didn't scare you too badly, did she?" jay sounds almost worried, later, under his teasing tone, and carlos rolls his eyes but he's shaking his head in confusion.

"i think she likes me? she said i can stay, whatever that means?"

jay barks out a laugh and pulls carlos into a rough headlock. "welcome to the club, pup," he grins, and carlos pushes out of his grip but he's almost excited, now. (everyone knows who mal is.) (soon, they will know who he is for something other than his heritage.)

it takes a while, for it to feel more normal. walking through the halls and the streets and the alleyways with jay and evie and mal as a group, (as a gang,) sending the people scattering, mal's cold gaze never flinching, evie's confident walk clicking louder than her heels, jay's immovable exterior of pure brawn. it takes even longer for him to know her as anything other than his leader.

it takes gang wars and the slow realisation that mal really intends to bring order to the chaos they've been born into and the sudden realisation that he'll back her up without a doubt. it takes watching the gangs bend and break under mal's calculated work, drawing up alliances and territories without breaking a sweat, harsh and powerful and intervening whenever things get too violent between other gangs with a display of power and violence that (although he is part of it) never ceases to amaze carlos.

it takes stumbling into the place they often lurk, a hideaway, bleeding and limping, expecting jay maybe, and finding no one but mal, who takes him by the elbow and cleans his cuts and sets his bones without judgement and with fingers familiar in their movements, holding his wrist when he tries to back away. he's never in the best mindset when he's hurt, even worse still when it's cruella who inflicts the hurt… which. it's often. he flinches away from her and mal kneels by him and she shows him her palms and doesn't move to touch him, moving her head to capture his crazed eyes with her own green orbs, not glowing, not shining, just mal.

"carlos," she tells him, and he doesn't know how but he knows that whatever she says next will define how he will think of her forever. "it's okay. let me help you. it's just mal. it's okay, you're okay." just mal. (not leader, not queen, not fae. just mal.)

he stares at her, wide eyed, as she binds his broken arm, gaze lingering on the unmistakably hand-shaped bruises on his body for only a moment before sitting down beside him on the bench he's frozen to. it's just mal, he thinks, and in a display nothing like himself he lets himself fall sideways and lie his head against her shoulder, exhaling shakily. mal, too, takes a deep breath, but wraps her arm around him and squeezes, and he thinks that with her by his side he could not fear for anything, could take on the world and win, could do anything, could be anything he wanted.

jay and evie find them in their hideaway with carlos' head on one of mal's knees and her sketchbook on the other as she uses one hand to sketch and one hand to comb through carlos' hair, carlos himself merely fiddling with a few pieces of junk metal he's twisting into a dragon of some sort. neither of them say anything and carlos is grateful. mal's warning glare probably had something to do with it, maybe, possibly.

"carlos," mal says, much later, years later, with new hurts. her voice is blazing, determined, focused, and he looks up, struggling to focus his eyes, the concussion an annoying distraction as he attempts to find the source of mal's voice. she takes his chin in one of her hands, tilts it toward herself, firmly but inflicting no damage, nails carefully angled away from his face. "carlos."

"m'll," he slurs, and she smiles slightly, a smile just for him, he can tell because it's not real.

"mmm," she agrees, and slips her hands under his arms to pull him to his feet, her strength surprising him as it always does, rubbing circles on his back when he has to pause and throw up, slinging an arm over her shoulders and slipping an arm around his waist as they head away from hell house. "one day," she tells him as they shuffle along. "one day, i will kill her for you."

"you'd do that?" of course she would. she'd do it now, if he asked her to, if the barrier allowed. mal looks at him.

"i would do anything for you," she informs him firmly, bluntly. "there is nothing i would not do for you. when we tear this world down and build our own, c, killing her will be the first thing we do. no one should ever be able to lay a hand on you again. one day, no one will. I promise you, carlos."

"i b'lieve you," he says, softly, head turned so that his cheekbone rests against her collarbone, and he presses a sloppy kiss to the sliver of skin he sees. "i'd do the s'me for you, y'know. y're… y're fam'ly, mal."

she holds him closer to her body and her arm tightens around his waist. "family," she agrees. "and family never leave each other behind, carlos." he doesn't know _how_ she knows that's a fear of his, _if_ she knows, how he sometimes thinks he's the weak link, youngest, smallest, least good at being evil, how one day they won't find him or they won't look. whatever the truth may be, he leans heavily against mal and thinks that for her, he would raze armies to the ground, for her he would fly into danger without a backwards glance, for her he would do anything she asked.

he's always known who she is, harry has. (mal, terrible and beautiful and cruel. she brings the gangs together with an iron fist and a grip of steel, strategic displays of power and strength demonstrating not to cross her and her gang of rotten four, kings and queens of the isle even if no one explicitly says so. she shows up at school occasionally for the sole purpose of reminding everyone how far her influence extends. she marches through territories not her own and no one dares to stop her. those who question her are quickly destroyed.) he's always know who she is but he's never know her until one night: their eyes meet under the shimmering moon with fog so heavy he can barely see in front of his face (he's used to it) but somehow he finds her eyes, not glowing but something close to it, the mass of isle inhabitants twisting all around them in the seedy club they've converged in.

he grins at her, cocky and dangerous and flirty. she grins back.

by the end of the night, isle music raucous and loud in their ears, harry's lips are on hers and her hands are gripping the front of his vest to keep him close. "mal," he says, low and sweet and reverent, and her lazy smile is piercing, fingers now laced behind his neck, cool even with the heat of the bodies pressed to every side of them. "witch queen," he murmurs against her throat, "fae of the isle, gorgeous, beautiful, malmal _mal_."

(she's fifteen and he's almost sixteen and they're too similar and nothing like each other and they're growing up in the shadows of different parts of the isle but the isle all the same.)

(here's the thing: harry flirts, harry dares, harry challenges, and mal returns the dare and mal accepts the challenge and mal doesn't flirt back as that's beneath her but she takes what she wants and she doesn't hesitate to take him up on his unspoken offer and he _loves it_.)

they don't go home together. harry didn't expect them to. the isle doesn't do dating. (mal once called it more like gang activity, which. not entirely inaccurate.) but then the next gathering, the next party, music even more grating than the last time, with harry's body writhing around with another group of miscreants, closer to each other than for any sane person's comfort, (though none of them are sane) eyes ringed with kohl and air thick with coloured mist, and suddenly mal is beside him and then in front of him and her lips are claiming his and he laughs against her mouth as his hands find her waist and she tilts him downwards. (mal would never reach up for someone. no, others must reach down for her, be pulled down to her height. harry wouldn't want anything else.)

they make their way to a corner of the room, full to the brim with delinquents and pounding music, lights flashing and people drunk off things other than alcohol, and mal's hands are in his hair and they're leaned against the wall and it's beautiful and nothing is wrong. kissing mal tastes like fireworks and feels like rebirth and kissing mal is like lightning, dangerous and fierce but too enticing to even consider stopping. mal kisses like it's the last thing she'll ever do and she kisses like it's the only path to survival and she kisses like she's doing him a favour. the air is heavy and hot and their bodies are intertwined and in the shadows, he can't tell where she ends and he begins. (harry gets drunk off mal and he wouldn't change it for the world.)

they still don't go home together, (because what is a home, on this island of the damned and betrayed) but they do sleep together. (gang activity, mal had said, and it was true.) they're both wild and domineering and passionate and he thinks that something in him has been waiting and waiting for her and now she's kissed (claimed) him and he's alive and he loves it. they're both wicked and they're both unpredictable and it's as perfect as things can be for people like them.

and harry knows he isn't mal's first (this is the isle, after all,) but that doesn't stop something from glowing in his stomach when she sends him a smirk from across the room or when she greets him with a kiss and tucks herself into him or when he sees the envy (and the fear) in the eyes of the others around them. he sees the way jay's jaw clenches (overprotective, paranoid bastard) when they stumble out of a party mouth-to-mouth or when he tugs mal closer to him at gatherings or in the back-markets (but she lets him; no one could make mal do something she doesn't want to and harry would never desire to control her anyways) and harry laughs because there's nothing jay can do and if mal wants to do this then there's no one who could stop her. she can protect herself, they all know, so he winks at jay and uses his hook to play with a piece of mal's purple hair.

mal still hooks up with other people. he knows she does. not often and not ever seriously (island kids don't date, island kids don't date,) but he doesn't mind. she'll lock eyes with him with her arms loosely draped over someone else's shoulders and he'll head over in time to see mal push her willing victim away with two fingers on their chest and he'll take their place with a smirk and a laugh just for her, and he'll feel the longing gazes and he'll smile against her mouth.

island kids don't date. island kids don't love. but island kids do hook up and for a while harry and mal happen to hook up consistently and passionately and not just under the dim lights of some mob party. they're happy with that. she doesn't tell him about her home life or her gang-family-allies and he doesn't tell her about his (harriet-cj-uma-gil) and they content themselves with living on the edge and with what they have. (his loyalty is to uma and always will be, uma who has been there for him forever, but his love- his _love_ \- bright and blistering and mad- is for mal.)

she pushes him against the wall and leans forward, aggressive and all-encompassing as she ever is, and his hands fall easily on her hips as he lowers himself on the wall to be at a more accessible height, legs stretched out and bent before him, mal's arms loose and her nails cold against the skin on her neck, and then she pulls back. he tilts his head, lips buzzing and pulled into a half-smile, and she leans in again. then says: (with a smile, without malice) "this is the last time, harry," and kisses him even fiercer than the first time, before pushing off the wall and vanishing into the crowd of party-goers.

it's okay, really. he was lucky, he was blessed, he was happy, and then she moved on and that's normal, that's expected, that's fine, that's—she begins to slink around with uma in the same shadows they used to prowl, and exes (island kids _don't date_ ) have never been amicable here but this is something else. (she is still mal and she is still fae and power and _queen_ while he is nothing-wharf-rat-first-mate-uma's but. _but_. this is something different.) (how could they _do that_.)

mal has always been in uma's peripheral vision. there she is, _street-witch_ , terrorising the halls at school, there she is _, fae-spawn_ , claiming the markets as her own and ruling the territories with eyes that blaze, there she is, _gang-queen_ , wild and beautiful and dangerous in every way.

she has a thing with harry, for a while, which doesn't bother uma much, though she's never liked mal much. she listens and obeys and respects the not-fae and her wishes, but they are both powerful, they are both queens in their own rights, and uma has never learnt how to be second-best. harry is a wild card, not quite sane and far too proud, but he is hers, and so she lets him do what he will, until the day mal meets uma's eyes while harry's lips move on her neck, mal's gaze quietly-burning and curious and something else. that day things change because something in her gut uncoils and until she bumps into mal two weeks later- harry no longer her shadow- she doesn't know what it is.

mal is intriguing, amazing, tantalising. they become something more slowly, achingly, until one day uma looks up and mal is standing by her side (equals, _equals_ , queens both of them,) with her arms folded and her eyebrow lazily raised in a challenge and her lips pursed and uma grins because this is right. this is what they deserve, sea-witch and fae-bitch with power running through their veins. this was pre-ordained, this was destined, this is right and perfect and how it should be.

mal's body is only ever a breath away from uma's and if she moved just a millimetre the balance would be thrown, but they dance around each other with a comfort no one's ever taught them. (this kind of thing cannot be learnt.) and mal's arm rests against uma's and they stand at aligning angles and uma's cackle blends with mal's and she can drinks in the wariness, the fear, when they stand together at gang meetings and the leaders of all the territories see them, uma-and-mal, together and strong and magnificent.

mal kisses her and uma kisses back. (and they are equal, equal, equal and deserving.)

uma sends a shark-smile to evie when the girl looks at her uncertainly, the defensiveness in her eyes shining, the way she looks at mal like she thinks mal's being tricked and evie needs to be the one to save her. uma links mal's pinkie with hers and mal squeezes back and evie's face sours as she turns away, message received. carlos stays out of their way but uma is more cautious of him than any of the others. the smaller fish were always the ones to slip easiest through the nets, through the traps—she doesn't trust him and she doesn't hide it; narrowing her eyes at him and curling her hand on mal's hip possessively, defensively. carlos meets her eyes and doesn't look away and uma knows he won't be a problem. jay doesn't like her much, uma knows. his fists curl when uma leans over to say something to mal and her hair blocks their faces from view. he worries, uma knows. ("i won't hurt her," she tells him when they're sitting across from each other in the slop shop, eyes on mal on the opposite side of the room. jay's eyes are cautious. "really," uma says, wanting to convince him suddenly, weakly, pathetically. "and i would never compromise the alliance," she adds after a moment. "i care for her." it's risky and it's stupid and why did she admit that, is it what she's drinking, why, but jay leans back in his seat and says nothing.) he changes, after that, still wary but winking at them and even ruffling mal's hair once, grudging compromise because he can see how brightly they glow, for each other, when they're together.

it's not all a power-play, though. uma loves mal, fiercely, desperately. she needs to establish this because mal is different and mal is special and uma has so little that truly matters to her. mal will never be hers, she knows, not like harry or gil or (to an extent) her crew, but for a brief shining moment they are each other's and that is enough.

it all ends rather abruptly. one moment they're in love whatever they are, and the next they stand on the beginnings of a full-out turf war. (he'd looked at them funny, with a sneer, with a leer, with disgust-and-lust, and uma's vision had gone red. they deserved respect, reverence, they deserved _better_.) mal is furious, uma can understand why, but mal refuses to _listen_. "you almost killed one of my men," she snarls, and uma refuses to back down, refuses to shy away even as mal's eyes glitter dangerously.

"i'm not sorry," uma snaps, and mal growls. wrong thing to say but really, they're what they are, what did she expect.

"i should have known this was a mistake, this would never work," she continues, and. that stings. uma recoils but then her eyes narrow. (they are queens, queens, but not of things like peace and kindness. these are the queens of chaos and warfare and blood. their thrones are made of bones and held together with spit and determination and uma will not bow to this, to _her_.) (it's foolish and it's unwise but uma was never the queen of wisdom, of virtues.)

"fine," she spits, but can't stop herself from trying half-heartedly to salvage some of what they had: "i did this for us, you know, for you."

mal's eyes burn. "no," she answers. "if you were going to do this for me you would not have done it at all or you would have done it properly. you broke the treaty, uma, _my_ _treaty_. you did this for you, to make a point."

uma bares her teeth furiously. "witch-bitch," she hisses.

mal's lip curls. "shrimpy fool," she retorts, and uma lunges. mal dodges the fist and laughs, disappointment and scorn in her eyes. "missed," she taunts cruelly. " _weak_." with that, she spins on her heel and leaves, and uma lets her go, standing alone in the room with an awful, awful, unfamiliar feeling in her stomach, hands uncurling as the fight leaves her, slumping down onto the floor and burying her face in her hands.

(she'd forgotten: mal was a queen but queens have rules.)

ben loves her even before he sees her, he reckons. it was as though, the instant he saw her, he knew. she was going to mean something to him, she was going to change things, he could just feel it.

eventually, well, suddenly those feelings were amplified by what he'd later learn was a love potion and his heart sung _malmalmal_ until he couldn't hear anything else. and he thought to himself, i can fix this, i can fix her, this is achievable. then he took a dip in the enchanted river and realised there was a lot more to fix than he'd originally thought.

(on the doubtful days, he wonders: would they ever have been something more, if not for the potion? their first date only happened because mal wanted it to. the way mal looked at him, was that real or was that manipulation? sometimes he wonders if anything they have is real or if it's after-effects of a spell, it's out of duty, it's imagined. sometimes he wonders and sometimes he wonders if mal does too.)

and they're not perfect. ben is good, he is kingly, he has been groomed to raise a kingdom. mal is (beautiful) harsh, (ethereal) untameable, (insecure) and she tells him she doesn't know what love feels like. he tells her he will show her. later, he will wonder why that was his immediate reaction, what that says about him. mal is everything he could never be, all sharp edges and secrets and smiles he doesn't understand. what they have is good, until it's too good. (and mal isn't _good_ -good but she is good for him and she is enough for him and he wishes—he wishes a lot of things.)

she fades. bleaches her (gorgeous, perfect) hair. wears the (artificial, washed-out) colours audrey does. smiles for the cameras (kind and sweet and lost) as if she practices before the mirror in the morning. he wants to tell her he chose her, and he wants to tell her to remember he dumped audrey for her, and he wants to tell her that he loves her the way she is and he doesn't want anything but her, except he doesn't tell her anything because he doesn't see anything and then it's too late.

in the first few hours after she's left, (fled, and mal never runs from anything so that really says more than anything else, doesn't it?) he (selfishly, bitterly,) ponders why she didn't feel as though she could tell him her doubts, her fears. he certainly told her things; what was bothering him, what he was up to, and—oh. he forgets, sometimes, that he's royalty, that his problems are kingly, that all mal's been shown since she arrived in auradon is that ben is perfect and princely and that he is so much more than normal, than ordinary, than just-ben. he begins to understand.

they find her, hair sleek and shiny and clothes darker than he's ever seen them. (it doesn't look quite right, but black has always suited her better than yellow.) he wants to tell her that it's okay to be just-mal and that she can fit in without changing herself and that it's okay to have doubts but mal is pushing him away, away, with an aggression he forgot she used to possess. his fault, that.

and then everything is going wrong and he wonders how he managed to screw up this badly, in general but also with mal. when did he forget mal was different, special? when did he forget where she came from, what she came from? (i don't know love, she told him, and he told her he'd show her, not _why not_ or _i'm sorry_ or _anything else at all, ben, why didn't you think_.) he wonders when he forgot what auradon was all about, showing people they were loved, reminding people that someone cared, and he wonders when he forgot that being a king was only as important as being a friend, being a boyfriend, being a teammate. because a king is for the people and ben isn't sure when he lost that.

after everything is over, mal looking at him almost cautiously, bracing for something he desperately hopes she won't find, he covers her hand with his own and says, "i love you, i love who you are, i don't want you to change and i'm sorry that i didn't tell you, and i'm sorry for not realising what you were going through, and i'm sorry you didn't think people cared for you because _so many people love you_ , mal, there are so many people who care for you and i'm sorry that we didn't let you know."

mal stares at him, and her eyes are glistening, not with fae-magic but with—tears? tears. maybe. could it be? mal has never cried before, not to him. (maybe that is as much his fault as it is hers.)

"i love you," ben repeats, and he's praying to anything he can think of, pouring everything he feels into his eyes. "i don't need you to be perfect because to me you are perfect just the way you are and i love that about you, i love that you like dark colours and potions and magic. i love that you love your friends and i love your humour and i love that you aren't ever afraid to say what you're thinking and i _love who you are_."

mal looks away from him for a second and then immediately her gaze returns, wide and frightened and desperate.

ben looks down at their hands, laces their fingers. "i know—" he falters. "i know it's hard, to figure out who you are, but… i'll be here. if you want me."

mal exhales, squeezes his fingers, and leans into him. "thank you," she manages after a long moment where ben can _hear_ his heart racing through every vein. "i love you too. a lot. more than, um. more than i used to think i could ever love someone, like this. and you taught me that, ben. you taught me what love is and i'm so grateful and i'm sorry that i forgot but i won't give up on this if you won't."

she's avoiding his eyes, and ben takes her chin like he did all those lifetimes ago and she looks vulnerable and beautiful and not-afraid and he's smiling and laughing and then when he says _never_ he feels as though his heart is bursting and the last piece of the puzzle has slid into place.

mal kisses him and it feels like new beginnings and never-giving-ups and above all it feels like love and ben holds her tight and she's smiling and crying and she's saying _i love you i love you i love you_ against his lips and this is what a happy ending looks like. (no fireworks, no ballgowns, no songs, just real people and determination and _love_. mal and ben, a king and a dragon, and he knows they can make this work.)

and they'll walk back to the others with mal's red-rimmed eyes and ben holding her hand and evie will pull her close with an arm around her waist as carlos squeezes her middle and jay leans behind her with an arm on her shoulder and his hair on the back of her neck and mal will think to herself that she will never let them go again and they will all think the same.


End file.
